


Finger Lengths

by supplyship



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-13
Updated: 2009-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supplyship/pseuds/supplyship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Notes: I'm thinking Season 6ish? Action/Adventure with some UST H/C thrown in. :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Finger Lengths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ziparumpazoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziparumpazoo/gifts).



> Notes: I'm thinking Season 6ish? Action/Adventure with some UST H/C thrown in. :)

She liked his hands. They were masculine hands: a little hairy with broad palms and lifetime's accumulation of scars. His fingers though... long, slightly tapered, adroit, with those thumbs that seemed to bend back on themselves. Double-jointed? He probably should have played piano or the guitar. Maybe he did; she thought she spied a guitar case in his den once, poking out from behind the easy chair as she gathered cups and plates left from Teal'c's birthday party, but Daniel's cry for help from the kitchen drew her away before she could investigate. Not that the Colonel would ever own up to playing the guitar, but with fingers like that she could easily imagine it.

She liked watching his hands move - quick and graceful, whether snapping a new magazine into his P90 or silently signaling her and Teal'c to move around and flank the enemy. Constantly in motion, even when every other part of him was still. Twitching, fiddling, flicking, tapping, flexing, dancing. He fondled the alien objects in her lab, in Daniel's office, like he could learn everything there was to know about them through touch alone.

(She's wondered more than once if he could unlock *her* secrets through touch; simply by sliding his fingertips down her waist and over her hip, or by cupping her breasts in his large palms, or by the pressure of his knuckles in just the right place... yeah. She's wondered.)

Right now his hands are a red blur in her line of sight. She searches, but can't remember the events leading up to their present situation: the Colonel with one hand clamped on her shoulder where it meets her neck, and the other trying to shape a small block of C-4. It keeps slipping from his hand; why is it red? C-4 is gray. It doesn't make sense.

The plastic explosive slips again, and he swears under his breath before wiping his hand on his thigh. She tries to ask him what's going on, and her barely voiced "What?" brings his eyes instantly to hers.

"Hey, Carter," he says gently. "Gonna have you out of here in five. Found the door - I just gotta unlock it," he jokes, waving the C-4, now with detonator inserted, in front of her face.

He leans away from her then, presumably to set the charge on the "door" - all she can see is his wrist and his arm where they cross in front of her face. She decides that she must be bleeding and he's trying to keep pressure on. The rest of him comes back into view then, and he's scooping her up in his arms and moving away from the blast zone.

When he sets her down behind a wall, sensation comes back to her, and the pain leaves her gasping while darkness creeps in on the edges of her vision. "Easy, easy," the Colonel murmurs, hands pressing down and keeping her still. "Let's do a little triage before the Great Escape, shall we?" Then he's peeling back her tac vest and ripping her t-shirt, and everything is red and gold and blurring.

She tries to focus on his hands again, but after a moment's hesitation and a "Jesus, Carter" when he uncovers her wound, he's moving too fast for her to follow. So she focuses on the ubiquitous gold interior instead, which doesn't move at all.

His face looms in front of her again as he pulls the cap off the morphine syringe with his teeth and plunges the needle into her leg. Then he's sitting up and stripping off his own tac vest, jacket, and t-shirt. She thinks she should just lay there and enjoy the view of his naked chest, but the whole thing is so surreal, so confusing that she can't. She can't hang on to anything and feels herself start to slip towards darkness, but then the Colonel's hands are back, cradling her face and he's talking to her: "Something something bandage, something, hold on." That's about all she gets before he's jamming his t-shirt against her wound and fastening it on with the soaked compression bandage. The morphine's starting to kick in, but still the pain from his triage has her sliding even closer to unconsciousness. The last thing she sees is one of his long thumbs flipping the cover back on the remote detonator and pressing the trigger. She's gone.

***

When she wakes again, she's greeted with the cool white sterility of the infirmary and the blessed absence of pain. Janet must have her on the really good drugs this time. She hears a noise to her left and slowly cants her head that way, mindful of the bandages that she can feel running from her jaw to her breast. The Colonel is slumped in a chair by her bed, drumming on his thigh with some tongue depressors. He senses her consciousness quickly, because he's tossed the depressors aside and is out of the chair in one smooth movement.

"Carter! You're awake!" he grins stupidly at her, and she can read his eyes easily, for once: pure relief. She wants to ask what happened, but her mouth doesn't seem to be working, and then it doesn't matter anyway, because he's clutching one hand in his and bending low to whisper: "Don't ever do that to me again, Carter." Then his other hand comes up to stroke her cheek, and she closes her eyes and thinks, _I love his hands._

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on LJ on 02/13/09 as a birthday present for ziparumpazoo.


End file.
